


Meltdown (Of My Life)

by Huntress79



Series: The Archer & The Con Man [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, White Collar
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Community: gameofcards, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-23 02:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8310529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huntress79/pseuds/Huntress79
Summary: It was bound to happen, sooner or later. Neal wasn’t naïve; he knew his two jobs would clash, in some kind of way. But if it was up to him, there wouldn’t be so much drama involved.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another part of my “The Archer & The Con Man” series. Set post first Avengers movie, mid-season 3 (after “Checkmate”) for White Collar. Written for [gameofcards](http://gameofcards.livejournal.com) Challenge 19 “Catspiration”. Clint’s character in this series is a bit of a merger between the character we saw in the movies and his portrayal in the comics. Deals with THE major character death from the movie and its aftermath (which we never got to see), as well as with the aftermath of the U-boat treasure storyline on White Collar (which we also didn't get to see in depth). Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Trudging up the stairs to his apartment, Neal could feel every single one of his 35 years of life. Despite the fact that the cat-and-mouse game he had to play with Peter in regards to the U-boat treasure was finally over, the tension between them was still running high. And not only between Peter and him, no, Diana and Clinton followed Peter’s example, though not in the same intensity.

In the meantime, Neal was in front of his door, and all of a sudden, his spidey senses, those who never failed him, were coming to live with the ferocity of a tornado. Someone was in his apartment, and there was nothing around Neal that he could use as a weapon. Great. But before he could mull more about that, the door was opened, revealing a stunning redhead.

“Tash?”

“As they say, in the flesh. You plan on making roots out there or coming in?”

Neal didn’t need to hear it twice, not from a woman who probably knew gazillions of ways to kill him and still make it look like an accident. Finally stepping through over the threshold, he saw the door to the terrace standing open. Apparently, Natasha wasn’t the only one here.

“He’s out there?” Neal asked, throwing a thumb in the general direction of the terrace. “On his own?”

“Yeah, he’s out there, but no, he’s not alone.” Natasha said it in a casual way, but the look she gave Neal was saying something different.

Shrugging out of his jacket and dropping it on his bed, Neal poured himself a glass of wine before making his way outside. He wasn’t sure why two of the best assassins in the world were seeking refuge with him, or what Natasha expected him to do, but whatever it was, he would go and try to do his best – that’s what friends are supposed to do, after all.

Getting closer to the right corner, Neal finally saw what Natasha meant with Clint not being alone – Bugsy was lying half between, half on his thighs, filling the silence with deep rumbles, mostly due to all the affection Clint poured on the pug.

“Hey, Clint.”

No reaction. For the fraction of a second Neal was confused, but then he turned back to Natasha, who watching from the door, and she simply tapped her right ear. Clint had taken out his hearing aids, not ready or willing to deal with all the sounds of the world right now. Understandable. Who would want to deal with it all when you’re, in some twisted kind of way, responsible (or at least feel like that) that the other half of your heart won’t come back again?

Placing the glass on the small table, Neal dropped down in a crouch in front of Clint (who still was oblivious to his presence) and tapped a familiar rhythm on Clint’s left ankle, which finally pulled the archer out of the trance-like state he was in. Remaining still, Neal saw Clint’s eyes first landing on his fingers, then following his arm up until their gazes locked. And right then, Neal had to put up every ounce of willpower for not to recoil.

Clint’s green-blue eyes, usually alight with a fire that gave the color mix an unusual edge, were dull, empty, mirroring the emptiness in the archer’s soul. Neal wasn’t a psychologist, not by a long shot, but even he knew that they all had to watch Clint closely for the near future if they wanted him to live.

Like out of thin air, Natasha suddenly handed Neal Clint’s hearing aids, before she returned to her post at the door. If anyone, the former KGB spy was the best to both protect them from any interruptions, giving them the space to talk freely and watch out for them both at the same time. Despite her cool and collected outward character, Neal knew that there was a big and caring heart for those close to her beating inside her.

In the meantime, Clint had put in his aids, adjusting them to the sounds of the night, while Neal had pulled some cushions and blankets from the wooden box in the far corner and placed himself next to Clint.

“I killed him, Neal.”

Neal somehow expected that. From what Tony, Fury and Bruce had told him, it didn’t matter to Clint that it was Loki who killed Phil – allowing the Asgardian God of Mischief to turn him into a puppet (for the lack of a better word) in the first place made it feel the same, at least to the archer.

“No, you didn’t, and you know that.” Clint was about to speak up, but Neal stopped him with a hand. “You’re just a human being, Clint, and I bet none of your team mates, not Tony, Steve, Bruce or Natasha, would have been able to resist the power of Loki’s scepter.”

“But I should have been able.” Clint grabbed Neal’s glass and took a sip before continuing. “Back in the day when I joined the army, both SHIELD and Uncle Sam put some training in that field on me.” He paused, looking away to the far end of the terrace. “Well, did an awesome job, didn’t it?”

Neal kept silent, but inwardly, he winced upon hearing the bitterness, sarcasm and self-loathing dripping from Clint’s words. Phil’s death was probably a million times worse than all the doubt about his loyalty the higher-ups in SHIELD could ever drop on him. Neal knew that the imminent team, including Maria and Nick, were rooting for Clint, keeping all the administrative agents from putting him in an isolation cell on a helicarrier. Which was good, cause being isolated, with no contact to anyone than himself, would spiral Clint even further into the deep hole called “depression” he already was tethering around.

“Hey!” The short bark was accompanied by the snip of fingers right in front of his face, and with a blink, Neal returned to the reality. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Ah, no,” Neal said with a shrug, “was just thinking.” He hauled himself up to his feet before offering a hand to Clint and pulling him up. “You know there’s a whole mountain of things going on right now, and I doubt that we will find the perfect solution to all of them in one night, so what do you say to turning in and tackling some of them with a fresh mind in the morning?”

Clint sighed, and Neal practically could feel the weariness in the other man’s body. It wasn’t a physical, but a mental weariness – something that Neal could relate to, unfortunately. The weariness you feel when you lose (one of) the most important people in your life.

“Okay,” Clint finally answered. “Tash and I can head over to my apartment and come back here tomorrow, if you don’t mind.”

“No.” Two letters, but the clipped edge Neal’s answer had to it was enough to cause Clint’s eyebrows to rise, an unspoken question. “You can have my bed, Tash can crash on the couch.”

“What about you?”

“I’m too wired up to even consider sleep, and knowing my handler, he’s probably here to pick me up in a couple of hours. And it wouldn’t be the first time I spend the night awake.”

“Your handler?” Clint echoed, shaking his head slightly. “I remember a time where you would call him ʻPeterʼ and mention him in every second sentence. Things got so worse between the two of you?”

“Yeah,” Neal answered while they were heading inside. “Even though Keller admitted to having stolen the treasure on his own, Peter can’t trust me anymore. And I get it, yeah, but I couldn’t walk up straight to him and say: ʻHey, Peter, just so you know, I have the real treasure and we swapped it for all my paintings.ʼ, could I?”

“And shouldn’t the fact that you and Mozzie helped them in getting Elizabeth back work in your favor?” Natasha cut in.

“Yeah, it should, and technically it does, but you should spend just an hour in the office these days. The air is so thick you could cut it with a knife, and it’s not only Peter, it’s Diana and Clinton and almost everyone else. I even got so far to ask Agent Rice from Missing Persons to drive me home tonight. I couldn’t deal with Peter’s attitude anymore.”

“Wow, now I feel guilty for even dropping by. Sorry man, I was so…”

“Stop it, Clint. You’ve got enough on your plate already, and we’re friends for almost a lifetime. You’re always welcome here, and I’m gladly throwing myself into your problems, if only to forget my own for some time.”

“Thanks, man.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Way too soon for Neal’s liking, a new day dawned on the city of New York. Even though they called it a night almost immediately, Neal spent half of the rest of the night thinking about everything in their lives – the Battle of New York, the cold, hard truth that was Phil’s death, the mistrust between him and the rest of the White Collar team.

Blinking away the last remnants of sleep from his eyes, Neal realized that someone was pounding at his door. It wasn’t any of Mozzie’s usual patterns, so Neal had a hunch on who might be on the other side of the door.

Getting up from the garden lounge he had pulled in from the terrace last night, Neal gave a slight shake of his head to Natasha, who was ready to jump to his assistance. With a deep breath, Neal opened the door, just enough to put his body in the gap and so effectively blocking Peter from getting a glimpse of his guests.

“Morning, Neal. Get dressed, we have a clue to follow.” Peter tried to push the door open, but Neal blocked his attempts. “What’s up? You got a body in there?”

Neal only shook his head, trying to convey the message with his eyes.

“Oh, you got a girl in there?” Peter suddenly exclaimed. “Nice to see you’re back with Sara. She’s good for you.”

Before Neal could say anything, Natasha wedged her body between Neal and the doorframe, only dressed in one of Neal’s robes, giving Peter all the visuals to make him think she spent the night here – which she did, but not in the way she wanted the other man to believe.

“Morning, honey. You got into trouble?” She spoke with a slight French accent, and in the huskiest voice Neal ever had the grace to hear.

“No, not at all.” Neal made a gesture toward Peter, whose eyes were still fixed on the petite, stunning redhead in Neal’s arms. “Sweetie, this is Peter, my handler at the FBI. And he’s here because we have to go and catch yet another bad guy.”

“Hi,” Natasha replied with a wink at Peter. Neal had to fight the urge to chuckle at her antics. This girl was a better actress than anyone he ever had met in his heyday as a con man, that’s for sure. “Well, Neal, who am I to stop you from being a hero? Go and get him, tiger. I’ll be here, and I promise you a really nice reward.”

For emphasis, she kissed him with all her might before ducking and vanishing back into the room.

“Wow,” was the first (and only) reaction Peter could utter, once he found the ability to speak again. Where on Earth did Neal only find them all?

“Yeah, wow,” Neal retorted. “So, unless you want to get a free glimpse at her best assets, I suggest…”

“I get it, I get it,” Peter said while holding up his hands in surrender. “I’ll wait downstairs, then.”

Before Neal could answer, Peter was walking down the stairs. Releasing the breath he didn’t know he was holding, Neal turned back to Natasha to thank her for her “assistance”, when all of sudden, Peter burst through the door, his service weapon drawn on Natasha.

“Neal, you wanna explain why you’re hiding one of the most wanted ex-KGB spies ever?”

“First of all, Peter, put your weapon down! You won’t get any answers at gun point, that’s for sure.” Surprisingly enough, the older man did as told, but Neal didn’t have the time to mull over that. “Second, you might want to sit down. There’s a cat in a bag, and she decided to come out right now.”

“Fine, but let me drop a call to Diana to start without us.”

Peter did call her, not even bothering with details. Neal, on the other hand, was trying to calm himself. He was about to spill his biggest secret to Peter, at the lowest point of their relationship.

“Okay, spill the beans.” Peter demanded, still keeping his gaze locked on Natasha.

“Peter, I want you to meet Natasha Romanov. And yes, she was one of the best spies the former KGB ever brought up. But that is part of her past. Now, she’s working for a government agency you’re not even supposed to know about.”

“But you do? How?”

“Because he’s working for them too,” Clint cut in from the doorway to the hallway.

“But… How… Why…?” Peter began to splutter, causing Neal to stop him by grabbing both his hands with his own.

“Peter, eyes on me!” Neal commanded, a trick he learned from Phil when he himself couldn’t focus on the matter at hand. “All you have to know right now is that yes, I’m working for another agency as well, and yes, my two jobs overlapped in the past. Anything else is not relevant at the moment. It never has influenced my work for you, not at all.”

They all could see the wheels in Peter’s mind turning, trying to understand what Neal just had told him. Finally, Peter just nodded to Clint and Natasha before leaving the apartment with Neal in tow.

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**The End**

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